


In June

by helrannie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28170900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helrannie/pseuds/helrannie
Summary: "How odd they were, all of a sudden. His surroundings. As if reality had split itself, like the souls of a set of twins. Identical, but different."---Eita meets Shirabu Kenjirou on the first day of June. It doesn't change his life at all.
Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically an old idea I had in 2016, now reimagined into something completely different! The whole thing is based on "June" by Prince, hence the title. I really liked the vibe of the song so I tried to build something around it!! c:

**TUESDAY, JUNE 1 st **

  
  


That day, on June 1st, Eita had got out of bed with the faint throb of an incoming headache creeping behind his eyelids. He hadn’t opened the blinds right away, for fear of letting it settle for good. It had still settled anyway, poisoning his brain from between his brows like a third eye, and Eita had ended up nursing a migraine before the day — or rather the month — had even started.

Thankfully, the sky had kept its dark shade of gray. Some kind of pre-summer rain had threatened to fall upon the streets, trees and tall buildings, but it had never started — for hours, from his cubicle, Eita had waited for the first drops, for the storm to break, but everything had stayed still. And yet the day had been as chaotic as any other rainy day. Chaotic and _blurry_.

During his lunch break, Eita had reached into his bag for his camera, had shot the dark street outside, and with a black marker had signed the polaroid with June 1st. Somehow, he remembered now, it had felt unbelievable. To look at the dull colors of the picture and then write June 1st. June was supposed to be the transition from spring to summer — it was supposed to be green, blue, bright and melodic. Or was it? Since this very moment, Eita's day had gone by faster as every shape and color, already vibrating against his retina, had harmonized to make him try to see art in his surroundings. By some miracle, his migraine had subdued in the evening, but the numb feeling on his forehead had remained.

It hadn’t been a perfectly good day, per se ; it could never be a perfect day when he was sitting at a desk for hours, taking calls, inspecting piles after piles of paper and typing on a computer. But it hadn’t been unbearable.

It also wasn’t over. Eita never let his days end in the evening.

Now that it was dark, as if _that_ was the starting point of the day, the rain finally started pouring. In heavy drops that hit the asphalt and cars like little rocks, harsh and relentless. Not wanting to go back home yet, Eita happily sought refuge in a bar. He settled somewhere peaceful — or at least as peaceful as the place could offer — and enjoyed the music. It wasn't crowded, it never was, but with time Eita had learned to recognize the faces of the regulars here, enough to call the place lively. It still wasn't as familiar as the bar he played at every two weeks, though it brought him the same feeling of relief nonetheless. Except here he was always left aching for a bass under his fingers — like some kind of Pavlovian response, the urge to play crept on him at the sight of the lights. As usual, he distracted himself by talking to other people.

It seemed to be a night just like another. Yet Eita knew _it really wasn’t_ , because today there was something strange about the place. Something that was _out of place_ , in fact — right over there at the bar, sitting on a stool, dangling its legs idly. An unknown figure.

He couldn't be older than Eita. His profile seemed young. Familiar, although Eita had never seen him here. Had never seen him anywhere in particular, actually. So why did he look familiar?

Puzzled, Eita waited for the band to play the last chords of their song before walking towards the bar to get another drink. Maybe he could take a closer look at the stranger, then. He didn't expect the stranger to start looking at him first — so much that his gaze began to burn a hole into his side. Stuck staring ahead of him, docile, Eita could only make out the man's pristine white shirt from the corner of his eye, stained with the red and green hues of the neon lights. After a while, he turned around to meet his gaze.

 _Usually_ , he thought to himself, this kind of contact between two people… It’s supposed to be soft and subtle, right? It was supposed to make time stop for a brief moment. It never did.

Eita found himself forcefully dragged into cold chestnut, as if it was the only thing left to see, while everything around them vibrated and spun fast and rushed into the next moment. A second or two passed. Hands warm against his cold, sweating glass, Eita cocked his head to the side.

“Have we met before?”

Everything seemed to settle back into place. The man didn't avert his gaze ; cold brown eyes remained on Eita, immobile. As still as a locked door. But everything was back to normal.

“I don't think so,” he said, a bit too softly. Tilting his head, just like Eita had done. Eita resisted the urge to lean in.

“Well, I haven't seen you here before.” He could have said _'I haven't seen you before'_ , but it felt untrue. “You're new to the city?”

“Not really,” the man answered vaguely. The slight furrow of his brows, under his copper-colored hair, made him look tense. “Are you always this inquisitive with strangers?”

Eita looked away, but didn't lower his head. “I'm just trying to familiarize myself.”

“Familiarize yourself?”

“Hm.” Eita leaned against the bar. “Getting to know what's around me. That includes new faces.”

The man arched an eyebrow in what seemed like confusion, but the blank look was back on his face right after. Somehow, Eita found himself able to read _disdain_ in his steady gaze. When he spoke, his voice was just as steady.

“Ah, it's sad. Being scared of unfamiliarity. Would you rather live in a loop, where everything's always the same?” The man remarked, blinking slowly.

Eita turned again, just to glare at him. “That’s kind of rude,” he began, before a voice in his head caught his train of thoughts. _Be reasonable_. “But then again I shouldn’t speak when I came up to you without asking first. Sorry.”

A bit stunned by this rather strange conversation, he turned to leave, but something tugged on his shirt.

“Wait,” the stranger said in that soft voice of his again, and Eita couldn't help whipping around. Their gazes met again, silently. “Do you know another place like this one? Actually, I'm trying to ‘familiarize myself’ too.”

A big part of Eita wanted to raise an eyebrow and not answer him, but in the end, he raised an eyebrow and spoke.

“Yeah, I know a place in particular.”

Eita told him about the bar where he played regularly, without mentioning that he played there. The man didn't ask for more information.

“Thank you...” His voice trailed off, hiding an inquiry. Eita caught it swiftly.

“Semi Eita.”

“Thank you, Semi-san.”

“No problem. Have a nice evening,” Eita smiled, before returning to his seat at last. He felt the man's gaze on his back, but didn't turn around.

It didn't matter. They were going to meet again anyway. Eita had the feeling that they were. He didn’t know why he wanted to.

*******

**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 2 nd – 8:04 PM**

The low notes of the bass reverberated against the walls of Eita's apartment. The lights were on and the blinds were half closed because the sun had set minutes before, leaving the sky on its own, bound to become darker and darker. Eita had already had dinner, and didn't know what to do. And when he didn't know what to do, he sat on his couch and played the guitar or the bass without a particular purpose other than distracting himself.

Today was a bass day. He closed his eyes, listening to the song playing from his phone, and accompanied the distant instruments with his own. He was pulled out of his trance when the music suddenly stopped, replaced by vibrations and a name on the screen — _Tsutomu_. Not bothering to put his bass away, Eita answered the call.

“Hello?”

“ _Hi, Semi-san! Uhm...”_ the voice on the other side of the line trailed off, _“How— how are you?”_

“As fine as usual,” Eita said breathily. He readjusted his grip on the bass. “Something's wrong, Tsutomu? You sound weird.”

“ _No! No. Nothing's wrong. I'm fine.”_ He paused to sigh. _“Can I come to your place? Please?”_

Eita got up to prop his instrument against a wall. “Of course. You know you don't have to ask like that, right?” He tried to sound joyful, even though the choked up tone of the other had caught him a bit off-guard.

“ _Thank you,”_ Tsutomu said, _“Uhm... I'm already down your street, actually...”_

“Do you want me to get you?” Eita offered, already looking around for his jacket.

 _“No, don't bother. Thank you, Semi-san.”_ The boy took a sharp intake breath — it seemed like he was walking faster. _“I'll be here in a minute.”_

“Okay. I'll be waiting for you.”

True to his word, Tsutomu arrived not long after they hung up. Safe for the dark circles under his eyes and the grim look on his face, he looked just like regular Tsutomu — doe-eyed Tsutomu, with his black bangs a bit tousled because of the mist outside. Eita pulled him inside. It was when the boy said nothing while he took off his shoes that Eita felt his chest constrict.

“Hey... Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” he said carefully, in a tone as soft as he could manage.

Tsutomu looked up, then, and they stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds in complete silence, both waiting, until Tsutomu's lower lip began to tremble at last. Eita took him into his arms.

He was used to see Tsutomu cry — during all these years, in high school and even after, he had offered his shoulder a bunch of times already — but right now he could tell something was different. Tsutomu had a sensitive soul. Tears slipped easily from his eyes — as spontaneously as everything else, like a laughing fit or a gasp or a wince. This wasn't spontaneous.

“I'm sorry,” he said, wiping his tears with a shaky hand. Eita squeezed him a bit in response and chuckled.

“Why are you apologizing?” He untangled himself from Tsutomu to look at his face, hands holding his shoulders steady. “Cry all you want. I'll be here. You don't even have to tell me why — though I'd like to know, to be honest.”

Tsutomu's grim face morphed into that expression again ; a look of childlike admiration, one that he would always wear whenever Eita would open his mouth back when two years of experience separated them in high school. Two years still separated them today, but they were both adults.

“Thank you,” he simply said, as politely as before, as if six years hadn't passed since that time. Eita couldn't help but chuckle again.

“Come on. Let's not stay here. Go sit on the couch,” he pushed the slightly taller man further inside the apartment. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, don't worry.”

“Is that a lie?”

“No! I promise.” Tsutomu looked honest. Eita didn't insist.

“Okay, then. I'll get us something to drink.”

In times like these, liking and owning entire packs of Tsutomu's favorite soda no longer made him feel like an overprotective mother.

“So,” Eita handed a bottle to his friend before dropping on the couch, opening his own. “Tell me more. What's got you all bothered? Unless you don't want to tell me about it.” Eita took a first careful sip of his bottle. “We could play video games. Or I could play you a lullaby.”

That made Tsutomu let out a weak chuckle. “It's fine,” he said quietly, “It's just the pressure of... school, you know? And my roommate's been kind of uncool lately...”

“What do you mean by 'uncool'? Do I have to call the guys?” Eita asked with a raised brow, lowering his bottle.

“No! No— it's fine.”

But Tsutomu's gaze stayed stuck somewhere into nothingness, as if there was a stray thought bothering him as he spoke. Eita waited patiently. After a silence, Tsutomu took a sharp breath.

“Also, my parents fought again,” he said, gaze still stuck on the floor.

New tears began to roll on Tsutomu's cheeks. Eita brought a comforting hand to his back. He couldn’t say he understood how it felt, but maybe he understood a bit how Tsutomu was dealing with it. Because he was always careful of what others thought, Tsutomu had this tendency to swallow the emotions of those around him, like a sponge — or rather like a bucket. When it tipped over, filled to the brim, it spilled everywhere and then something in Tsutomu would break, because he was never meant to be left hollow. He was bound to people in a cursed way.

In the end, just like all the other times before, Eita found the right combination to close the dam of Tsutomu's leaking soul before it fled with the usual light in the boy's eyes.

They left the apartment an hour later, because Tsutomu liked nice walks and fresh air and long, harmless conversations.

“It's good to spend time with you again, Semi-san,” he said at some point, after a short silence. It looked like he was about to cry once more, but instead he smiled. “I've missed you.”

“Damn, aren't you tired of being adorable?” Eita sighed dramatically. “I've missed you too, Tsutomu. Missed my little one.” He hit him in the ribs lightly and got a small _ouch_ in return. “We should try to hang out more, right? Just the two of us.”

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

Just as he was about to add something, his surroundings seemed to stutter, and Eita met the gaze of someone about to pass them by, walking in the opposite direction. There were still a few people outside since it wasn't that late in the night — but still, this encounter was unexpected. He shouldn't have noticed him, and yet his face was the first thing that caught his attention. Two eyes, cold and steady, screaming inside his head all of a sudden, making the streets spin. Almost devilish. Had they appeared like that the day before?

Heart skipping a beat, Eita looked away, and a smile forced itself on his lips as he tried to pretend everything was fine — something he was particularly good at.

“And you have to show me your baking skills! There's this rumor about your cookies...”

Perhaps they had — appeared like that before, the first time they met. Maybe Eita had just forgot. He didn’t expect to see the stranger again so soon. Didn’t expect to feel the world get swallowed around him. It left him a bit angry, but mostly distraught, disrupted. _Like his senses had derailed for a moment._ But on the outside, for Tsutomu, he kept the same look and the same laid-back grin.

  
  


*******

**SATURDAY, JUNE 5 th – 7:57 PM**

Thinking he was cursed, Eita expected to see the stranger again somewhere in the background, but after two full days he didn't see him at all. _It_ _had just been pure luck that night_ , he thought then. Not that long before he actually _saw him_ again, sitting at a table, maybe nursing a drink — Eita couldn't see well from where he was, illuminated by purple and ruby red lights. His heart picked up once more, skipping beats, trying to grasp the spinning handles of the décor speeding up around the man's still figure.

Eita shook his head quickly. It was weird. But it could wait. He couldn't let his thoughts wander, not now. Not now when the show was going to start soon, and his bandmates were beside him, and Terushima, the bartender, was in the midst of serving them a round of beers. But what was his name? Why didn’t he ask, when they met for the first time? Kuroo's fist hitting his shoulder brought him back to his senses.

“Hey, Semi. You okay?”

“Yeah! Of course,” he assured. Beers appeared on the counter. Careful with the bass still hanging on his shoulder, Eita stretched his arms to take one for himself and another for Kuroo.

“You spaced out for a moment,” Kuroo said when he accepted the drink.

“Happens to me sometimes,” Eita brushed off with a grin. “Just needed to gather my thoughts today.”

“Alright then,” Kuroo drank a bit from his cup before slinging his guitar around himself. “Hope you’re in shape now.”

The show went as good as usual, perhaps even better. Eita felt like he had reached a higher realm here, on the stage. Today, on June 5th. He didn't meet the stranger's gaze again, although he felt it on him — both cold and warm. It didn't disrupt him this time, because nothing could derail reality when he was performing. Not when performing itself already felt like standing outside reality ; like being somewhere _in between_ for a moment.

They ended up meeting later, inevitably. He was outside, propped against a wall and looking around the street when Eita saw him again. On impulse, he decided to walk up to him, bass case slung around a shoulder.

“Hey! So you made it to the place.” _How lame of a greeting,_ Eita thought to himself, but the stranger simply turned to him with a mildly surprised look on his face.

“Oh, Semi-san,” he said quietly, before a blank look spread across his face. “Yeah. It's a nice place.” Then, a hint of a smile — the first Eita got to witness. “Nice show, by the way.”

“Thanks!” Eita said with a smile too. Then he looked around. “Were you waiting for someone? I won't bother you any longer if that's the case.”

_Did I really sabotage myself just now?_

“Just waiting for a taxi, actually. So it's okay.” Once again, he smiled this little smile. This little, unreadable smile. “Do you always put others first and yourself second?” He asked, tilting his head a bit. “Like some kind of guard dog?”

“ _Oh_ — well. No, in fact... I don't. It just happens sometimes,” Eita babbled, both surprised and offended. _A dog?_ “I can put myself first.”

“You should.”

What was this guy talking about? Eita knew how to put himself first. He put himself first plenty of times. He _always_ put himself first. He was known for putting himself first, because he was responsible enough to know when to step down and when to let himself shine.

Puzzled, Eita took a sharp breath. “What's your name, then?”

“Shirabu Kenjirou,” the stranger said, playing with the cuffs of his black satin shirt.

“Well, Shirabu-san.” Eita shoved his hands in his pockets. “I'm glad you enjoyed the show. We're playing every two weeks on Saturday nights.” He sighed. “It's not much, but the atmosphere is nice. Feel free to just... ask me for some advice, if you want to see other places of this kind.”

A silence settled, as none of them spoke, then Shirabu chuckled, grinning dangerously.

“Wow. You're doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Eita asked with an arched brow, clueless, perhaps a bit stunned by the strange charm of the man’s smile.

Shirabu shook his head. Then he met Eita's gaze again, warmer than before, an amused smirk lingering on his lips. He said something, but Eita had to ask him to repeat himself.

By some twist of fate, Eita ended up coming back home with a new number on his phone. He still cursed himself until exhaustion put him out of his misery.

  
  


*******

**MONDAY, JUNE 7 th – 10:35 PM**

Eita looked up at the light on the ceiling, eyes half-lidded. Somewhere into the distance, he heard himself take a deep breath. The off-white light moved like a shooting star, except it seemed to be stuck into a loop — condemned to move and go back endlessly. It was starting to hurt his head.

Searching for the bottle he had left next to him on the couch, Eita let his hand wander blindly, until his palm closed on a firm, naked thigh — he knew it wasn't a bottle, it didn’t have the texture at all, but he didn't move either. The owner of the leg didn't protest.

“Man,” Eita started, voice so deep it was barely audible, “We were supposed to learn new shit.”

Everything had been set — Eita's laptop was on the low table before them, open on a tab with this one song they had been listening to over and over to find the chords and learn the rhythm. Kuroo's guitar, long forgotten, was propped against the couch, next to Kuroo himself.

“I shouldn't have brought that bottle...” the latter groaned, running his hands over his face. “Of course it was going to fuck us up. I mean… have you _seen_ it?”

Eita hummed in agreement. A few seconds passed in silence. Only then he got up, staggering a bit at first before leaving to turn off the ceiling light and put the fairy lights instead, finally letting their eyes rest. Kuroo heaved a pleased sigh, but didn't move nor say anything. Then Eita reached for the fancy-looking bottle to put it on the table — he did it with more force than intended, and the noise brought Kuroo’s eyes to him.

It was something they did often ; meeting up at Eita's place, learning new songs, drinking a bit. Talking. They hadn't talked a lot tonight. Perhaps it was one of these nights.

Eita dropped back on the couch, this time closer to the other man. They both stared at the immobile laptop screen for a moment, sharing the same space without ever acknowledging it, before Kuroo broke the silence, words a bit more slurred than usual.

“You've been frowning a lot, Semi.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“What's the matter?” Kuroo asked.

“Nothing, really...” Propping his elbows on his knees, Eita leaned in to bury his face in his hands, to run his fingers through his hair. “It's just been really, _really_ weird, these last few days.”

“As in? Y'know I'm not in the right shape for riddles right now.”

“I don't know how to explain...” Eita said in a frown, voice straining a bit under the influence of alcohol, and maybe because he knew he was being too honest. He kept thinking about this strange feeling of unfamiliarity that struck him at times when he looked around him. “I've just been feeling uncomfortable.”

“Like you're getting depressed?”

Eita raised an eyebrow. “Hell no. Of course not. It's just the atmosphere, sometimes. It's like something's _off_.”

For a while, Kuroo seemed to reflect on what Eita had said — he was humming thoughtfully, eyes stuck on an empty spot in the living room. One of his hands had found Eita's shoulder.

“I think you're having some kind of summer depression, Semi,” he said at last.

Eita turned around to shoot a glare into Kuroo's direction.

“It's not depression. I _swear_ , I know it's not,” Eita insisted, leaning back against the couch's backrest. “I'm fine. And it’s not even summer yet.”

“If you say so. I trust you.”

Another silence. Eita took a deep breath before speaking again. He shouldn’t have drunk that much.

“There's this guy I met last week. He’s _really_ cute… and we kind of talked a bit. But it's been bothering me.”

“Why? It's a good thing.”

“I know,” Eita pouted, somehow pissed. “But for some reason it's making me panic. Like, deep inside. An irrational panic. And I don’t know… this and the rest, it’s like I’m not being myself these days.”

When he fell silent again, new thoughts stumbled into Eita’s mind one after the other, casting a cloud over his face. Shirabu was _objectively_ cute, but he wasn’t even that nice. He was infuriating, with those empty eyes, that cold gaze of his. The haughty look on his face. That rare, barely perceptible grin, and his puzzling words. And yet...

“Oh... I see.” Kuroo seemed like he had finally understood Eita's drunk rambling. “You have a crush, and it's been a while, so you don't know what to do.”

“I don't—” Eita started, because he knew it couldn’t be _that_ , before biting back his words and finding new ones. The conversation could only grow weirder if he didn’t. “Okay. Maybe, yeah. Maybe that's what it is.”

“Just be yourself, man. You're hot and cool. You don't have to be nervous,” Kuroo said lazily, stretching his arms before him.

“Thanks, Kuroo.”

But no matter how much Kuroo’s words reassured him at the moment, it didn't change how Eita perceived things around him. Hauntingly still and silent, but charged with tension.

A reminder of it all struck him when he went to close the blinds of the glass door later that night, after Kuroo had passed out on the couch. Even the streets looked odd, even if they were the same. He almost expected to see a ghost of a silhouette and a pair of eyes from the balcony, but they never appeared. Quietly, before going to his room, he spread a blanket over his friend's body and retrieved a large photo book from a shelf. He flipped through the pages, glancing briefly at the photos and their dates. March, April and their pinks and grays. May and its shades of green.

And June. Dark or white, and always, always dull. Sometimes appeared specks of blue, orange and purple, but they were always behind something else. And this something else was a dark shape, black like a shadow. Face stuck into a scowl, Eita closed the book, put it back on its shelf and left the room, turning off the fairy lights. A chill ran over his back and remained until he buried himself under the warmth of his covers.

*******

**THURSDAY, JUNE 10 th – 9:23 PM**

Eita found him without meaning to, once again.

He was taking a night stroll in the park near his apartment for fresh air when he saw him there, sitting on a bench under a streetlight. Eita came to a halt, unconsciously. And as if he had sensed Eita's gaze on him, the man looked up. _At last, he was there_. With that steady expression on his face — steady in the wrong kind of way.

Under the shadows of the trees and the night sky, his eyes were darker, his pupils blown wide to hide the cold brown of his irises. Now, this was just strange. Strange as in _frightening_.

“How come we keep meeting like this?” was the first thing Eita managed to ask, in a soft and quiet voice. Afraid of disturbing the other’s steadiness.

But in the end, Shirabu seemed just as puzzled.

“I don't know...” he mumbled, eyebrows raised in what looked like surprise. “Are you following me?” He added then, a hint of defiance in his tone.

Eita frowned, feeling something like bewilderment stir in his stomach. “I could ask you the same thing. I live right down the street,” he said.

“You do? I don't live that far either.”

“How come I haven't met you before, then?”

He hadn't met him before— before _what?_ Eita couldn’t recall. In any case, he felt it deep in his gut that something about that was odd. He knew how it felt to have a crush, and it was different than whatever _this_ was. He had never met Shirabu, and suddenly he was everywhere ; in flesh every time he stepped outside, and inside his head every time he came back home. All of it felt like a dream. A very vivid dream.

Shirabu got up from the bench and stepped forward to face Eita, chin tilting up at first, then slowly lowering, to stare at him through his lashes — somehow, that ended up even more intimidating. Eita avoided his eyes for a moment, looked down elsewhere. Tonight, Shirabu wore a long jacket over a thin crimson shirt. His neck was trapped in a black band, from which dangled a silver pendant. Eita didn't have the time to identify the little figure it represented ; his gaze was forcefully pulled back to Shirabu’s own in a split second.

“You sound accusatory, Semi-san,” Shirabu said, voice a bit too soft for the look on his face. “I have no idea why we keep meeting like this either.” His deep voice was too close. And his eyes crowded Eita, as if they saw further than just palpable reality, as if they had another purpose than just _seeing_. “I don't usually believe in all this bullshit around _signs_. But maybe we'll stop meeting like this if we just talk.”

Something was off. This entire situation seemed wrong. But when he gazed at him, at the look on his face, Eita felt both the need to stay away and the desire to seek more. See more of him. He wanted to see further too. He wanted to make those eyes familiar, so then control wouldn't slip off his grasp anymore. A sense told him that they weren't going to meet less even if they talked — but that didn't matter. If they talked, then maybe Eita could understand why everything had felt odd since they first met. And then he could move on.

“Okay,” he said. “Let's talk.”

They didn't talk a lot. It turned out that Shirabu didn't know how to.

Like a poltergeist, he stumbled into Eita's space and disrupted it, distorted the façade Eita had painted so carefully.

He was a nuisance. He was cold and too blunt and evil-like, but because of these same traits he was also captivating. Hunger was a nice feeling, Eita realized. Fondness too. Curiosity, maybe. And spite, and confusion. It was nice and liberating ; it made his heart race and catch up with everything else around him — because everything was going fast forward again. Eita had never felt this need to see a haughty gaze turn docile before.

From so close, Shirabu stained everything in dark reds. He stained Eita's apartment, made the bed look unfamiliar with his presence only — Eita had to battle to get the world to stop vibrating so much. It had never felt so hard to maintain a firm grasp on his consciousness while focusing on keeping everything under control. Shirabu’s pretty eyes were still trying to capture his soul — he knew that’s what they were trying to do — though they weren’t as assertive at the moment. They closed, sometimes, when they couldn’t stay half-open, but they still left this ghost image inside Eita’s mind, along with that shrill sound — Eita hated that sound so much. He hated feeling like he was trapped. So he kissed him, and Shirabu kissed back, sighed into his mouth, wrapped his fingers around his chin. The more they touched, the more the ghost image faded. Until only fondness remained. Maybe it was better than just talking.

But then for a second, a stray thought warned Eita that those fingers around his chin weren’t just tender — _no_ , they were also digging into his skin. But did it matter? He was above Shirabu, he was running his hands under his half unbuttoned dark-red shirt. He was leaving finger-shaped bruises on his skin. Searing his presence into the mattress forever. _It didn’t matter_.

 _Would you rather live in a loop?_ Eita heard all of a sudden, somewhere in the back of his mind, in that same voice that was panting and whining for more under him. He didn’t want to live in a loop. He would rather die than live and see the same things over and over again.

What the fuck was that question anyway? What kind of person asked this kind of shit?

 _God_ , he was so _warm_ everywhere. He was so _sweet_ like this.

Shirabu’s fingers traveled from his chin to his neck, barely grazing his skin, like a tender caress. Eita leaned back, just enough to stare down at lips stained red — from either Shirabu’s blood or his own, he didn’t know. Then, when Shirabu murmured something unintelligible he looked up.

Perhaps this now familiar pair of eyes had never been so loud before. In the darkness of the room, they were warm — unusually warm — and they were content. The grip around Eita’s neck tightened.

“Just keep going,” his soft voice said through a small smile, plush lips glistening with blood and spit, black horns curling around the crown of his head.

Eita woke up suddenly, not moving a limb, nor gasping for air. He simply blinked to full awareness, unconsciously holding his breath to not make any noise.

His head was numb, his entire body felt numb, but his eyes still flicked left and right around him, searching without knowing what to look for. Then something heavy fell down into his stomach — maybe his heart. His lips parted to murmur something, just to break the agonizing silence.

“What the _fuck_.”

The room was as dark as just before, he realized. And the moonlight was the only thing that saved him from complete, suffocating darkness, just like _before_. After a while spent listening to his own loud heartbeat, Eita slowly sat up to check next to him for signs of a silhouette, but he was alone. He still kept looking around him carefully, eyes blown wide, putting a name on each shape and shadow. Until he remembered what he was looking for. _But he was alone._ There was no one but him in the room.

A silence passed, as he stayed petrified and confused. Then he finally found the strength to reach for his phone on the bedside table. He _needed_ to look at the date and hour. His eyes flinched at the brightness of the screen before he could make out any letters or numbers.

  
  


**FRIDAY, JUNE 11 th – 3:11 AM**


	2. part II

**FRIDAY, JUNE 11 th – 9:03 PM**

Trying to drown out his thoughts, Eita listened closely to each deep note his bass produced under his fingers. The off-white ceiling light had turned the glass door of the balcony into a mirror when the sun had set.

At some point, Eita looked around and stared right at his reflection for a while — it pulled a sigh out of him and made him put his instrument away. He searched for the phone he had discarded somewhere on the couch, then. It wasn't late, but for some reason it felt like it was already past eleven. It was only natural to start feeling tired, when one was so _goddamn tense_.

Standing up silently, Eita went to the kitchen, put something to cook on the stove while his phone stood lonely on the counter, opened on a contact. His throat felt tight. His mind was staying stuck on things that made him feel like he was going mad. He still couldn't tell when he had started dreaming last night ; as if there was a hole in his memory, right where June 10th should be. In order to know more, he only needed to ask. But he didn't want to ask. He had been walking in circles since dawn.

In the end, he selected another contact and pressed call, then put the phone on speaker. It beeped, again and again, those long beeps that made the wait more excruciating, and meanwhile looked at the stove, at the yellow light above it, and thought _this could make a good shot_ before a voice replaced the beeps at last.

“ _... Semi-san?”_

Eita jumped. When did he start talking?

“Hi! Tsutomu.” He moved closer to the stove to look at his dinner simmering inside the pan. “How are you? Are you busy?”

“ _I'm fine! And I'm not— I'm just in my bed.”_

“Already? But it’s barely nine!” Eita checked the hour just to be sure. “You start school early tomorrow?”

“ _Not really. But I've been finishing late these days.”_

“If you want to sleep, I won't bother you any longer then,” Eita said with a smile.

“ _Huh? No! It's alright,”_ Tsutomu sputtered, voice sounding higher over the phone. _“I wasn't going to sleep right now.”_

“Okay, then. If you say so.”

“ _You're right, anyway. It's too early.”_

Eita hummed, eyes lost on the faint yellow light above the stove. Tsutomu's voice made him start once again.

“ _Are you okay, Semi-san? You're a bit… quiet.”_

Eita's brows furrowed a little, but he still smiled nonetheless.

“Why, do you think I'm too loud usually?”

“ _No!_ _O_ _f course not,”_ Tsutomu quickly exclaimed. Eita could almost see his eyes widening in distress.

“Relax.” He snickered. “And to answer your question, I'm okay. Just a bad day, y'know.” He looked around him briefly. “I thought hearing a familiar voice could lift my spirits a bit.”

The phone caught the sounds of someone shuffling around.

“ _Did it work?”_

“Well, yeah,” Eita chuckled, “You picked up.” Then, after a pause, “Do you want to tell me about your day?”

Tsutomu moved again — perhaps turning on his side. His voice became clearer.

“ _Hm…_ _I woke up and went to school, I had lunch with a new friend... Then I went to buy groceries in the evening, and when I came back my roommate offered to share a smoothie he had made in the afternoon.”_ Tsutomu said, growing more enthusiastic as he went on, _“I didn't think Kunimi would ever share something with me… It really confused me at the moment— like, I thought it was some kind of bad joke, but yeah. He was just being friendly. And the smoothie was good.”_

“That's great,” Eita said with a smile, feeling an indescribable warmth spread inside his chest. “I'm glad you're starting to get along with that roommate of yours.”

“ _Hm, yeah. Maybe he's not that mean...”_ Tsutomu sighed. His voice had become smaller.

“You're falling asleep, aren't you?” Eita asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“ _A_ _m not. Tell me about your day too, please. You know you can complain to me,”_ Tsutomu answered almost in a whisper.

Eita laughed breathily.

“Well... I have nothing to complain about, in fact,” he confessed in all honesty. Then he realized — yeah, he really had nothing to complain about, even though he felt like he should. Why couldn't he find reasons to complain? “I've just had a long day at work.” This was true too. Was it just that, then? “Nothing too alarming. But I've been having a lot of these long days. That's why.” Words were just pouring out on their own now.

“ _I understand,”_ Tsutomu said quietly, _“I hope talking like this cheered you up a bit.”_

“It did. Thank you,” Eita chuckled. “I'll let you sleep now. You need to rest.”

“ _... Okay,”_ Tsutomu agreed after a short silence. _“Goodnight, then. I miss you, Semi-san.”_

“Miss you too,” Eita said in a deeper tone, feeling a lump settle in his throat all of a sudden. He hoped he hadn’t sounded too somber. “Goodnight, Tsutomu.”

He turned off the stove not too long after they hung up. Only then a complete silence welcomed him, leaving a strange heaviness on his shoulders. Eita finished to prepare his dinner with a confused scowl on his face, until his phone screen lit up again, left him feeling suddenly cold. As if he had managed to hear his thoughts from where he was, Shirabu had just messaged him.

Eita carefully picked his phone up and read the message, keeping his face unnaturally far from the screen until he actually understood the text.

_> Are you playing tomorrow night? I can't remember._

Brow furrowed, he replied fast.

_< No, we play every two weeks_

Then, after a moment of hesitation, he typed and sent a second message.

_< Wanna meet up somewhere, though?_

Why, _why?_ _Why did I just send that,_ he asked himself, on the verge of mashing his head against the nearest wall.

_> Sure. Just text me when and where tomorrow_

Did this mean that the conversation was over? Eita felt a burden settle and sear his stomach, casting a frown over his face again. This wasn't right. He had something else to say. And he wasn't a coward.

_< This is going to sound weird, so please don’t ask why I’m asking. But did we meet yesterday? Just to be sure_

It shouldn't look this terrifying, this single question, but Eita felt his heart try to break through his chest. There was no turning back — he had sent it, and Shirabu was going to answer. And perhaps waiting for Shirabu's answer was the most frightening of it all, in the end. Eita clenched his teeth and busied himself with something else — his dinner. He was switching off the light above the stove when his screen finally lit up again. Only five words, but five words that said enough to make him freeze right there, in the middle of the kitchen that was now silent and dark and _suffocating._

_> Yeah, we met last night_

  
  


  
  


*******

**SATURDAY, JUNE 12** **th** – **8:41 PM**

“How come you can play both the bass and the guitar?”

From where he sat on the couch, with an acoustic guitar on his lap, Eita looked down to meet Shirabu's unreadable gaze. His question seemed genuine, but the look on his face was still as blank — _guess some things just couldn't change, no matter what happened._

“I like both, so I learned both.”

“But which one do you prefer?”

Eita couldn't decide if Shirabu was actually being curious. Everything, from his face to the way he spoke, told him that he wasn’t — that he was just learning and calculating, like some kind of robot. Calculating what? Only God knew.

“I don't know,” Eita answered. “Maybe the bass, when I'm playing with others. But I guess I like the guitar better when I'm on my own.”

Shirabu hummed, then nodded. He didn't move from his spot on the floor where he sat cross-legged, slightly craning his neck to watch Eita play with something akin to admiration. There wasn't anything different in his stare. His pretty eyes were steady and unsettling, like the previous times. They burned a bit when Eita forgot about them.

Why was he here again, after leaving Eita unable to sleep the night before? That as well, only God knew.

Eita stood up to prop his guitar back against its assigned wall, next to his bass. Then he came back to stop before Shirabu, to look down at him. Shirabu didn't hesitate to meet his gaze — he didn't even blink.

“Are you satisfied with that answer?” Eita asked, a small smile spreading across his face.

Shirabu nodded, but then just kept staring. Maybe he was trying to speak telepathically. Eita couldn't read minds, so he gave up. He tried not to think about it, and stretched his hand down towards him. Shirabu took it and rose to his feet.

“Semi-san,” Shirabu said, then, when they stood face to face at last. “Don't you find it weird?”

 _No. Please shut up._ Eita felt his stomach twist. Shirabu's odd questions always seemed to do that to him.

“What?” he asked. “What is weird?”

Shirabu stayed silent for a second, staring at him again through his lashes with a look that said _‘you’re kidding, right?’_. A chill ran down Eita's back, but he kept his composure. A lot of things were weird, in fact. And Eita could make a detailed list of them. He was just curious to hear it from Shirabu's mouth.

“Things aren't happening in order...”

That was one strange fact, among many others.

“… You dislike me, but you invited me into your home.”

“I don't dislike you.”

The statement made Shirabu start ; for the first time, his face wasn't blank. He looked stunned. Eita couldn't help but furrow his brows in confusion.

“I wouldn't have talked to you again in the first place if I disliked you,” he clarified. “You made me curious. You kind of appeared out of nowhere...” Feeling his confidence slowly falter, Eita pouted and looked to the side. “I remember telling you something about wanting to ‘familiarize myself’. I guess I wanted to get to know you. That’s all.”

_And everything else doesn’t matter._

Though Eita couldn't properly see him now, he could make out Shirabu's disconcerted gaze from the corner of his eye.

“You're making that weirded out face, as if you're not utterly confusing yourself,” Eita added then, a bit defensively. “You don't seem to like me, and yet you're here.”

“I do like you, though.”

Something brushed against Eita's ribs — fingers, he realized when they gripped his shirt to catch his attention. Eita looked at Shirabu again. The sudden eye contact, from so close, made his heart do somersaults.

“You do?” he said, frozen still.

“Well—” For a moment, Shirabu looked away and a pained expression crossed his face, as if it hurt him to gather his words. His grip on Eita’s shirt loosened. “I do want to know more about you.”

Eita didn't know how, but he managed to chuckle. “So... have you been following me because of that?”

Shirabu snickered. A sound so unfamiliar, it made Eita's traits soften in a split second.

“Stop that. I swear I haven't. I have better to do than waste my fucking time following people, especially office workers who play music,” Shirabu said through a small smile. “I'm as confused as you are about this.”

“For real?” At some point, they had made it back to the couch, to sit close to each other while still keeping a polite distance. Eita had arched a brow. “It's hard to tell, y'know. When you're confused or not.”

Shirabu sighed, looking down as if to avoid Eita's gaze for a bit. This moment, these last few seconds, felt like the longest Shirabu had acted and looked human, in all its vulnerable glory. And time was still ticking.

“I know... I just can't help it. My face doesn't have a ridiculously wide range of emotions to display, you know? Contrary to you.”

 _It just did though,_ Eita had wanted to say before hearing that last bit. About him. He had never wondered whether he was expressive or not. Was he like a book, open to all? The prospect scared him a bit for a second, but then a voice in his head reminded him of something. _I don't care about that._

“So, I'm easy to read?” Eita still asked, propping his cheek against the backrest of the couch. Shirabu raised his eyebrows, as if to say _'duh'._

“It's actually a bit pitiful, how simple it is to guess what you're thinking.”

_This guy..._

Eita's face fell into an irritated scowl, against his will. He took a deep breath, about to retort something, but Shirabu spoke.

“Sorry. I could have worded that differently.”

This single sentence, spoken to the floor by an embarrassed-looking Shirabu, was enough to make Eita's traits soften again, make the thin walls of ice shatter around him and melt on the ground. He wondered why, for a second. Why _this_ was enough to stroke his heart like that.

“Depending on the situation, I'm not really good with words either...” Shirabu added, looking pensive now, and maybe a bit stunned.

“It's fine,” Eita found himself saying.

_It’s really fine._

Shirabu wasn’t evil. He was just a bit cold and blunt, maybe a bit clumsy as well. And he wasn’t spiritual ; he was a closed-off yet intense human-being, once one took the time to look at him closely. There was nothing wrong with Shirabu. Actually, Eita realized as they conversed until late into the night, it was the opposite. There was a lot of _good_ in him, a lot of raw _sweetness_ , and a lot more to learn.

  
  


  
  


*******

**TUESDAY, JUNE 15 th – 7:16 PM**

Since that day, something had shifted in Eita's mind, for the first time in nearly two weeks. Nothing had changed outside, the streets were as still as before, but Eita didn't feel lost and cold anymore. He felt a certain warmth in the dark haze surrounding everything around him.

Walking through unpopular streets, he recalled what he wanted to tell Tendou, an old friend he was about to meet. Maybe he should tell him about how good he did with his band. How nice his life had been for the last few months here, in the city. Maybe he should tell him about Shirabu too. _Shirabu..._

His opinion on Shirabu had changed so fast, it felt unreal. Sometimes when he thought about it he let himself wonder if he had been dreaming it all again. But this time he knew he hadn't, and that left him even more spellbound than before. Now Shirabu wasn't just a moving gaze, a distant idea ; he was a man of flesh and bone, a bit younger than him, a bit shorter, with a sharp tongue that could sometimes speak tender words. He was a student, a dog owner. And he liked music with his entire being, listened with that empty look of his and learned, understood, _saw._

Eita felt like he had never met someone so in-tune with everything else. Shirabu was free in his own world that was also the same world everyone else lived in. Except when he met Eita — then, they would get stuck in a bubble and this bubble would make its own tune. A tune that brought Eita to a warm and safe place.

Lost in thought, Eita almost didn't notice the thing staying still on the ground at the entrance of the park. He saw it only when he stepped close to it, almost crushing it under his boot. He looked down then, eyes widening in surprise. It was a little bird, perhaps a sparrow. Very alive, despite the fact that it still hadn't opened its wings to fly. Eita crouched to stare at it curiously. It wasn't bleeding, its wings didn't look damaged, neither its legs. It was just— still. With its head turned against its side, cradled against its feathers.

Since it was in the way, exposed to the dangers of inattentive people like himself, Eita picked it up carefully. As soon as it left the ground, the bird flew away, only to land on a patch of grass not too far.

Eita hesitated for a few seconds before going to check on it. It was just a bird. But it hadn't landed far, and he was early anyway. The sun was just starting to set.

As he got close to the sparrow, he realized with stupor that it was as still as before, stuck in that same position — waiting? Was it waiting? Eita crouched over it again. The bird wouldn't leave the ground, even when he reached to stroke its feathers gently.

Was it going to die?

“Eita-kun?”

Upon hearing that familiar voice, Eita looked up, finally acknowledging the presence that had appeared a second ago at his side. The face he met brought a small smile to his lips.

“Hi, Satori. Um... We're both early.”

“Looks like we are. I was going to wait for you on that bench over there, but then I saw you sitting on the ground,” the man said, crouching next to Eita. “What's wrong with the birdie?”

“I don't know. He's alive, but he's just not moving.” Eita looked away and moved to stand up.

Satori stayed on the ground a bit more to inspect the bird before standing up as well.

“Hm… it might be dying,” he observed.

They both looked down at the little sparrow and let a small silence pass. Crickets chirped and leaves vibrated against the wind. The orange light of the sunset was warming their backs. Other than that, the rest was still — even the shadows.

“So he's just waiting there for his time to come?” Eita asked to no one in particular, feeling oddly blue.

“Maybe he is,” Satori said with a sigh. “I don't think we can do anything for him, though.”

At last, Eita turned away from the bird, felt the sunlight caress his face. Satori turned at the same time and their gazes met.

It had been so long since the last time they met ; the reminder hit Eita all of a sudden.

“It's really been a while,” he said then, smiling even if a lump had formed in his throat. Tendou smiled as well.

“Yeah.”

Satori extended his arms and they hugged briefly — finally giving themselves a proper greeting. They walked away then, leaving the bird there on its own. Eita looked back just once.

“Sheesh, what a gloomy way to meet after such a long time,” he said nervously, staring at his feet. They had started to head towards the exit of the park, perhaps just to put some more distance between them and the disturbing scene they had just witnessed. “Anyways, how are you?”

The cloud that had settled above them slowly dissipated into thin air as their conversation went on. Soon, the bird was pushed to the back of Eita's mind, disregarded while he learned more about Satori and his current life. They ordered food, at some point, then basked under the last rays of the setting sun. Eita was taking a picture of the scenery before them when Satori spoke.

“Something changed in you, Eita-kun,” he said, softly and matter-of-factly, like a truth teller.

Eita turned to look at him, blinked to adjust to the sunlight when it hit his eyes, turning deep brown into pools of caramel.

“Really? I hope it's in a good way,” he said not eloquently, puzzled. Tendou shrugged and nodded. That prophetic air of his had left to make room for the playful tone Eita had always known.

“Well, yeah. I guess it's good.” Satori paused for a moment, then smirked knowingly. “Are you in a relationship or something?”

Eita opened his mouth and froze, then blinked again, staring at Satori with a bewildered look. It made the other cackle.

“Don't take it so seriously, Semi-Semi! It was just a wild guess.”

“I know!” Eita hissed, scowling in childish irritation. Seeing Tendou brought back habits from high school. “I'm just— thinking,” he finished with a pout.

“Come on, just tell me. Don't be shy now,” Satori laughed. “Is it Tsutomu?”

Eita froze again, this time not for the same reason. _Tsutomu?_ What made him think about Tsutomu? Was it because Eita had mentioned him a few times? Maybe it was. Meanwhile, he still hadn't talked about Shirabu, he realized.

“Not Tsutomu. And I'm not— I'm not dating someone,” Eita said, brow arching on its own accord. A few faces popped into his mind, including Tsutomu's, but in the end he only saw Shirabu. “But there's someone, I guess.”

“Oh, and who would that be?”

Eita slipped the photo into his bag. “A guy I met recently,” he said leisurely. “We've been meeting a few times.”

Why was it so hard to talk about Shirabu? Why did it feel so weird? Satori was his friend, one of his closest friends in fact ; they could talk about everything together. They used to have conversations that lasted for hours, still had them to this day. Satori would listen intently and give his own kind of advice, in his own kind of warm tone.

“Hm… Maybe that’s why then. Even if it’s serious or not. Meeting new people can change you, Eita-kun. Remember that,” he said, pulling Eita out of his thoughts.

Eita simply nodded at first, before the meaning of those words slowly dawned on him. If it was true, if he had changed after meeting Shirabu, it could shed light on several things. And perhaps it was true. Eita wanted it to be true. Tendou always seemed to find the right words at the right time.

  
  


  
  


*******

**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 16 th – 8:01 PM**

The sun had disappeared, but the sky wasn't dark yet when Eita left his apartment for another walk. These days, he felt like he needed the daily evening fresh air.

Especially today, when it had been so bright outside but he had spent his time inside, nursing a headache and doing more paperwork than usual. It was a welcome pause, to walk through less busy streets and watch the sky grow darker, to see clouds become pink and orange, then dark blue. Eita's camera was sitting at the bottom of his bag, but soon it was going to see the light ; it had to capture that scene.

Eita chose to pull it out near the entrance of the park, snapped a shot when not a living soul could be seen in the frame. Days before, a dying sparrow had stood in the center. Now it was gone — it was _missing_. The memory made Eita furrow his brow. He wondered where it could be now, wondered about its sake as he waited on a bench for the image to appear on the polaroid. His train of thoughts took another turn when he saw the first shapes and colors of the scenery. At the same time, the wind stuttered and the leaves and branches of the tall trees began to dance. He ended up raising his chin to look around.

How odd they were, all of a sudden. His surroundings. As if reality had split itself, like the souls of a set of twins. Identical, but different.

Eita slipped the photo into his bag, along with his camera, and stood up. The wind blew again — softly, this time. _It wouldn't kill to check,_ Eita thought to himself. _To check if the bird left._

Hands hidden in his pockets, he walked to the patch of grass where he had abandoned it the day before. It was getting dark, but not dark enough to make shapes invisible ; streetlights weren’t lit up yet. Only the absent sun, slowly descending further underground, provided light.

Eyes getting used to the low luminosity, Eita stopped. Then he crouched, carefully, gaze stuck on the small shape on the grass. He never actually believed that he could see it again. He had just come here to be sure, driven by impulsive curiosity. But the idea of finding the bird had never crossed his mind once, because it was simply impossible — because it was a small, defenseless bird in a world where so many things could happen in a day.

He spent long seconds looking at it, silent and still, unwavering — looking at the sparrow lying down with its wings closed. Silent and still. It looked like it was asleep, except it was dead. Eita didn’t dare touch it. Instead, he stared until he forgot about everything else around him.

It really had died like that — patiently _waiting_ on the ground...

“Semi-san?”

Eita felt his heart jump in his chest. How? Why _now_? Eyes wide open, he whipped around to meet the owner of the voice. There stood Shirabu behind him, with one hand hidden inside his jacket, a confused look on his face. Eita couldn’t even bring himself to feel surprised anymore. He slowly stood up.

“What are you doing?” Shirabu asked when the silence stretched for too long. Eita hadn’t been able to speak. Somehow, this question brought him back to his senses.

“Nothing special… just found a dead bird,” he said blankly, still a bit dazed.

The streetlights, including those in the park, suddenly lit up their surroundings, casting more shadows everywhere. Only then, Eita noticed that Shirabu’s visible hand was holding something, _a rope_ — a leash. And attached to this leash was a tall black dog, sitting idle with its ears pointing up.

“You didn’t touch it, right?” Shirabu said, tilting his chin down to look at Eita from behind his lashes.

Eita shook his head no — still didn’t blink once. “Of course I didn’t. It’s dead.”

He almost turned to stare at it again, but looked at an empty bench instead, then at the dog, then back at Shirabu. That seemed to bring the man to life, because he took a step forward, then another, until he stood before Eita. His gaze trailed down and stopped on a spot behind him. Maybe a second or two passed — then Shirabu went past him, crouched over the dead sparrow and looked at it without a word. His eyes remained still, even when he stood back up. The heavy silence lingered, but then Shirabu turned, met Eita’s gaze suddenly. He looked soft now, under the city lights, under the shadows of the trees, holding that brown leash. His voice was just as soft when he broke the silence again.

“Want to go for a walk?”

  
  


  
  


*******

**SUNDAY, JUNE 20 th – 00:38 PM**

The show had gone smoothly. Like last time Eita had been surprisingly good and bright, there on the stage. He had felt it, and Kuroo had told him before they had all parted ways at the end of the night. Eita still heard echoes of the praise inside his head, like those fleeting ghosts of purple lights that he always ended up seeing until he fell asleep — during these nights, the high would only die down with his consciousness.

“You know... You look like a slightly different person on stage, Semi-san,” Shirabu said, still with that artificial politeness dripping from each of his words.

Eita acknowledged him, but didn't move his gaze from the road ahead of him. His hands had tightened around the steering wheel of his car. “Really?”

In the passenger seat, Shirabu shifted.

“Yeah. On stage, you look like you own the place, and like you're having lots of fun.”

Eita couldn't help chuckling. “Of course I'm having fun. I'm doing what I love the most!” he said cheerfully. His smile softened a bit when he felt Shirabu's eyes on him. “It's exhilarating, to perform... I think there's nothing more intense. It just makes me happy.”

Shirabu hummed. Eita could almost see the small smile on his face when he spoke. “I can tell.”

A silence settled then, warm and filled with buzzing electricity — in his state, Eita could barely notice it. It was when they got out of the car that it finally struck him at once. Shirabu's presence, the way he held himself. The way they looked at each other. With his bass case on his back, Eita locked the car and found him. His eyes were not brown but black under the night sky, barely lit by the streetlights around the apartment building. They watched Eita with intent, calculating and just a bit playful.

“You're still fired up, aren't you?” Shirabu said, tilting his head. Not expecting an answer, visibly. “You seem hungry.”

Eita wasn't sure what kind of hunger he felt, but Shirabu was right : he _was_ hungry. And liquid fire was still coursing through his veins, burning beneath his skin. He needed something to ride the high just a little more, enough to push him over the edge and make him land back down gently. Shirabu seemed to understand just by looking into his eyes.

Eita barely had the time to register the presence of his surroundings, the inside of his own dark apartment, his bass case landing somewhere that was not its usual place. Time passing by. He was aware of the tension emanating from the space between himself and Shirabu when he shut the door behind them, but for some reason he let it build up carefully, slowly shrugging off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt a bit more. Until Shirabu dragged him down, forcing him to meet a wild gaze — wild and unsteady, almost angry. Only then, Eita met him halfway.

He took him to bed, in that bedroom that Shirabu probably already knew now, or at least knew through its shapes and shadows visible into the dark. Shirabu sat on the mattress with a small huff, looked up at Eita with a hazy look on his face. Half of their clothes were already lost somewhere on the floor — not that Eita cared at the moment. Everything was blurry, moving like the rippling surface of a lake.

At some point, one of his hands grasped a firm thigh, hips bucking only subtly, but enough to make Shirabu stutter on a breath and look up at him again. His cheeks were already dusted pink, and his eyes were darker than they had ever been.

“Please,” he whispered suddenly, hands wrapping around Eita's nape, chest heaving desperately for air, “ _Want you_.”

Eita felt the world stagger around him but still managed to smile. “Be more precise.”

That brought a harmless little scowl to Shirabu's face and left him silent. Only later, when Eita was three fingers inside him, touching him at all the right places, he spoke again. His scowl had disappeared long ago.

“ _Fuck_ , want you _now_ ,” he breathed out, eyes half-lidded and looking down. Not meeting Eita's, because Eita was too busy sucking a bruise on his skin — until he wasn't anymore.

Before he complied, Eita stopped touching him, just to see that scowl again. Just to see him part his lips, probably to hiss an order again, and hear his trembling intake of breath instead. Eita leaned in to kiss him, then, catching any little groan before it escaped. Shirabu gripped his shoulders hard enough to leave marks when he kissed him back. They both ended up tasting blood.

“ _God_ ,” Eita murmured against his skin, ignoring the world that was trembling around him, “You're going to be the death of me.”

He really was the hottest, all around Eita, and the rest of him as well ; his eyes, his lips. He was intense. Eita could only fuck him hard in retaliation — until Kenjirou was only groans and broken sighs, until he himself reached the same degree of intensity by being unusually rough. They would share the same tune, then.

One of Eita’s hand edged dangerously close to Kenjirou’s neck, grazing collarbones and stopping there, but slowly moving forward. For a second, Eita wondered if he was going to see horns again, eventually — but Kenjirou just looked at him through his lashes, teary-eyed, cursing in between sharp breaths. Eita’s hand finally wrapping around his neck made him stop to let out a whimper, but his gaze found Eita again right after, darker and hotter than before. Eita was struck by something, then ; at this moment, Kenjirou was finally _there with him,_ not the other way around. And it lingered, lingered so much that he forgot when the shift had occurred.

Even later, when the high began to die down, when Kenjirou kissed him tenderly, then cradled him under his chin to stroke his hair, the order still hadn’t shifted back. Eita didn’t think about it too much. In the new haze that was surrounding him, he only registered the heartbeat against his ear, the fingers massaging his head. Perhaps _this_ was the most intimate moment they had ever shared.

He couldn't remember when he had fallen asleep that night.


	3. part III

**TUESDAY, JUNE 22** **nd ** **– 6:31 PM**

Eita didn't usually meet people right after a day at work — he always needed a moment to cool his temper and recharge his batteries, at least thirty minutes alone in silence after a whole day spent typing away the hours. But when he did meet someone, it was always Kuroo. Simply because Kuroo worked in another building down the street, and sometimes they would fetch each other and share drinks and dinner to rant about their day and talk about music and people — for some reason, this would feel more refreshing than thirty minutes of peace.

Eita liked these evenings a lot. Today in particular, he felt ecstatic. Perhaps the energy buzzing under his skin had something to do with it. He blinked less, but his legs shook more. He found himself fidgeting for no reason. Kuroo ended up noticing.

“Hey, Semi. How many cup of coffees did you have?”

Clueless, Eita blinked twice, trying to recall every time he had drunk a cup during the day. _Only once._

“Just one. Why?”

“You look tense.” Kuroo leaned back on his chair. “Just how rough was your day? You seemed fine this weekend.”

“It wasn't that bad,” Eita said, brow raised in puzzlement. “I'm fine.”

“It's summer, you know,” Kuroo remarked with a sly, mysterious grin. “Since yesterday, actually.”

Eita sighed, and decided to not give Kuroo the satisfaction of seeing him frown. He took a sip of his drink and looked at an empty spot near him. _Summer already_. June was coming to its end ; for some reason, the more he thought about it, the less uneasy he felt. If June ended, then he would turn the page of his photo book, and maybe— perhaps, he would feel less trapped. Chin resting on the palm of his hand, his eyes drifted to a spot on the table.

“Do you like the beach, Kuroo?” he asked absently.

“Yeah! Do you?”

“I do. We should go, one of these days… maybe in July. If you'd like to.” A smile spread on Eita's face. He leaned back, mimicking the other's pose. “I bet you're the kind of guy who would spend hours picking up crabs.”

“How did you know?” Kuroo said with a pout, words coming out breathy and slurred, “I can't wait, then. Let’s do it for real, one of these evenings.” He smiled in enthusiasm. “It's better to go later in the day. Or early in the morning. It’ll be a good way to relax.”

“Yeah.”

A comfortable silence passed. Kuroo took his glass and drank, and Eita did the same right after. His eyes trailed on the man's appearance. His sharp gaze and his pitch black hair, always so untamed and sticking up to the sky— like the ears of...

Eita blinked to brush the thought away, but it was too late ; the perspective of _next month_ faded to bring him back to the confines of the present day. Again. Since the last time they met, he often found himself unable to stop thinking about _him_ _—_ _it could have been nice, if the warmth it brought him wasn’t paired with this strange_ _bad feeling_ _._

“Spit it out, Semi,” Kuroo suddenly said, with that lopsided grin of his. “That scowl looks ugly on you.”

Eita hummed, unimpressed.

“Is it about what you told me that time when we got drunk at your place?” Kuroo insisted, brow furrowed in concentration, maybe trying to recall the exact events that had occurred that night — it was still a blur for the both of them.

“About what?” Eita asked, still trying to look uninterested.

If it weren't for Kuroo's unbending sense of persuasion, he would rather not let the conversation drift that way. Eita was fine with just talking normally about their days, like they used to do — gossiping and whining about rude phone calls or mean coworkers. Or petty assistants, in Kuroo’s case. Or just Kuroo talking about the show he had watched the night before, or about those stupid science articles he would read before going to sleep. _Normal_ things. Not things that made Eita clench his fists to tame the electricity in his body.

“Y'know, you told me you left with someone after the show... How is it going?”

Eita felt a rush of warmth fill his insides. As if he hadn't already spent enough time thinking about Shirabu, about his face and his voice, while watching the city from the windows around his cubicle. He crossed his arms over his chest. Kuroo's eyes seemed to follow the motion.

“We see each other,” Eita admitted with a sigh, “That's all, I think.”

“Mhm...” Kuroo looked like he was thinking hard, as if he knew that he had struck a chord and was now caught in a dilemma. He spoke again after a short silence, “That seems complicated.”

“Yeah. He's nice, though.” Suddenly unable to stop reminiscing, Eita let his voice soften. “He's really nice.”

It felt so good, to be with Shirabu. To just share a space with him, and feel safe in his arms, and feel the thrill of being around him. The adrenaline of touching him, of meeting his gaze, of kissing his lips. Of hearing his hushed voice murmuring orders and praises. Yet for some unknown reason, it also felt out of place, as if it was too good to be true — the feeling brought chills to Eita’s skin. That was what had been keeping him on edge since their last encounter.

“You like him, don't you?” Kuroo said, smile less teasing and more sympathetic.

“I think I do...” Eita agreed, looking to the side pensively. A moment passed and he chuckled, then scratched his nape nervously. “I have it bad. It's alarming.”

“I wouldn't call it alarming.” Kuroo arched an eyebrow. “Why do you think it's alarming?”

Eita shrugged. “I don't know.”

But he did know.

He knew there was something looming over him, waiting to pounce. Something he had to stop denying before the ground opened under his feet and swallowed him whole. But still, before that, maybe he could — maybe he could let himself fall for Shirabu and accept his fate. Even if he _did_ know something was wrong. It didn’t hurt anyone to keep pushing the bad feeling away.

“Damn, Semi.” Kuroo put his glass back on the table. “You're so weird and spiritual these days. What happened to you? Is it a book that you've read or something?” The smirk was back on his face. “That would be like you, to get influenced by a book.”

Eita rolled his eyes, but still smiled. “I won't give you any title, if that's what you're asking for.”

There was no book. But it was probably odd to admit it, and to confess that he knew _damn well_ how weird he sounded, how out of it he had seemed these last few days. Oscillating between intense states of giddiness and fear. There was nothing : no book, no song, no dazzling painting whatsoever that could have disrupted his thoughts _to this point_. Nothing physical, nothing that could be seen with the naked eye — just a sudden feeling, from one day to another. From May to June. And that headache between his brows…

Eita didn't understand it himself, so Kuroo probably wouldn't as well. It was no use trying to understand. He just had to wait and see. In the meantime, it couldn’t hurt to keep lying.

  
  


  
  


*******

**FRIDAY, JUNE 25 th – 7:24 PM**

Just as he hung up from an hour long phone call with Tsutomu, Eita almost jumped out of his skin when his phone started to vibrate again against the kitchen counter. Finishing to dry the last glass he had cleaned, he answered the call. He noticed the name on the screen just as he did.

“Hey.” His voice ended up sounding a bit strained, despite his efforts of trying to sound normal.

“ _Hey, Semi-san. Am I bothering you?”_ a calm, overly polite voice asked. It was Shirabu— hearing him speak through the phone was stranger than he had expected. He still felt this tender warmth spread inside his chest nonetheless.

“No of course not. Why?” Eita said quickly, eyes widening a bit.

“ _I was walking my dog and I just passed by your building. I wondered if you were here.”_

“I am.” Driven by instinct only, Eita stepped out of the kitchen and towards the glass door in the living room. The blinds were open. “Are you still there?” he asked, opening the door to step on the balcony. There was no wind — no cool breeze to welcome him, only the frozen remains of the afternoon heat. The streets pulsed two or three times.

“ _Yeah. I stopped near the building.”_

Eita caught sight of a small silhouette down there, on the sidewalk. A tall shadow seemed to be sitting beside it — tall and black like the void, shaped like a dog.

“I can see you,” Eita said leisurely, leaning against the railing.

“ _That's a creepy thing to say.”_ Eita could almost see the disdainful look on his face through the phone. _“Wanna hang out? Or do you want to keep watching me from up there?”_

For some reason, this sentence made Eita feel like he was the one being watched. Maybe it was because of the way the words had been delivered, or because of the choice of words itself. He went back inside.

“I'll be down in a minute.”

Shirabu didn't hang up, but the line stayed silent as Eita put on his shoes and left his apartment. They only ended the call once they were close enough for their eyes to meet properly. Eita's gaze quickly shifted to the giant dog sitting next to Shirabu. It looked back at him — turning its black head towards Eita, ears still pointing up like those of jackals.

“He seems calm,” Eita said, finally locking his gaze on the dog's owner. He almost asked if he could pet the dog, but in the end it felt improper. Instead, he braced himself to ask how Shirabu was doing —Shirabu spoke before he could open his mouth.

“He's surely calmer than most dogs. He can rip throats, though. If I tell him to. Don't look into his eyes too much.”

“Alright,” Eita started, chuckling nervously, “You can't say shit like that and call me the creepy one, Shirabu.”

“I said what I said. Are you scared? It’s just a dog, you know.” Shirabu glanced at Eita with a raised brow. Rolling his eyes, Eita looked away, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m not scared. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

Through the city streets, they began to walk, aimlessly, with the dog strutting before them as if it were leading the way. It kept the pace tranquil, not making Shirabu tighten his hold on the leash once. And they conversed easily, almost naturally. Until Eita started to let his thoughts wander as he looked absently at Shirabu's profile, taking in his presence, the calmness he gave off. It was too peaceful, and Eita was restless, trembling from the inside. Those doubts haunting him since that night were starting to resurface.

“Why did you call?”

Without even realizing, they slowed down. They had been walking through empty alleyways for a while now, trapped between buildings so tall, it seemed like the sun had already set.

Shirabu visibly tensed, lips pursing and gaze fleeing to rest on the ground.

“I mean— not that it bothers me!” Eita clarified, “I was just wondering.”

Still not looking at him, Shirabu hummed. Eita perceived the faintest sign of bashfulness on his face. His heart stuttered.

“Is it a crime to want to see you?” Shirabu said bitterly, still refusing to meet Eita's gaze.

Taken aback, Eita kept his lips parted but didn't speak. Shirabu ended up raising his chin.

“You too, you came without a second thought anyway,” he said, gaze somehow challenging, even when a blush was dusting his cheeks. He huffed. “You can stop gaping like a fish. You swallowed your tongue or something?”

“Huh?” Eita sputtered dumbly, feeling dizzy after staring at the other for so long — as if that part in his brain that produced sweet, rose-tinted ideas was starting to strain. “You... You wanted to see me? Like— just to hang out?”

“Yeah...” Shirabu answered after a while, in a voice even quieter than before. He lowered his gaze again and fiddled with the leash in his hands for an instant. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“I'm not!” _I'm so damn happy. But why would you hang out with me?_ “I was planning to call you soon anyway.”

It was true ; he had been planning to finally reach out to him again after they last saw each other, maybe five days before — Eita wasn't sure. It felt like an eternity anyway, because of that unbearable silence and stillness that had settled between them. They hadn't spoken, nor met each other in the meantime. Not even by accident. It had left Eita with a hole in his heart, but he would _certainly not_ admit it.

Before Shirabu could reply, he continued.

“But you beat me to it.” As if to soothe his nerves, he looked around him, only to realize that he didn’t recognize anything. “Um… Where are we?”

“Don’t worry, I know these streets.” Shirabu gestured to the dog with his chin, smiling softly. “This guy always takes me there somehow.”

For a split second, Eita wondered if he heard it well. Then he hummed, and let a small nervous smile settle across his face.

_What the hell is that supposed to mean?_

*******

**SUNDAY, JUNE 27 th \- 11:42 PM**

Eita was almost sure of it now — his uncertainty was damaging him mentally. Otherwise he wouldn't feel _like that_ as days passed, as June neared its end. His surroundings wouldn't look so dull, and the music wouldn't be a background sound that he couldn't hear anymore.

He hadn't felt any of these things in the evening, with Tsutomu. Everything had been as normal as ever. Tsutomu had opened the door for him with a bright smile, and the real fire in Eita’s heart had returned, momentarily — without straining once, as if nothing had changed. Until he left Tsutomu's apartment and found himself back in the dark city streets, alone.

The ride back home was short, but Eita felt each passing minute. For some reason, he paid attention to each time his car went past a streetlight, over and over again, while the buildings and turns and sidewalks all seemed to look the same. The light came and went over his still face, but he didn’t blink once ; he kept his eyes on the road, the ghost of a scowl haunting his traits. He wasn’t used to this invisible weight pushing him down, and he didn’t like not being used to things, especially things that couldn’t be handled. He tried to recall the evening with Tsutomu, the stories they had shared, the smiles they had exchanged. His expression turned sour. _Think about him. Think about Tsutomu._ Maybe if he kept thinking about him, the rest would disappear again— momentarily.

When had it become only _momentary_ — the feeling of being content and safe and full of life? Had Kuroo been right all along? Was it just some kind of seasonal wave of gloom clouding his senses? Was the intense restlessness and the cold sweats supposed to be a part of it?

Trembling, Eita got out of the car and slammed the door shut. _Bullshit_. Nothing had happened. There hadn’t been any kind of shifts around him, in his life — his days had been as normal as a day could be, each of them spent like the previous one. _Nothing had changed._ Still propped against the car, Eita ran his hands over his face, then took a deep breath to let out a long sigh. _Or m_ _aybe something had changed._ But then what was he supposed to do now? Climb up the stairs and lock himself in his apartment to wallow in his misery? The night was still young, and the air was cool enough for a walk. That bad feeling constricting his chest didn’t hold any value. It was just there to pester him— it was just his mind _acting up_.

There was nothing wrong around him. He could keep going like this.

Locking his car nonchalantly, Eita walked past his building, not even sparing a glance at it. _There_. Maybe if he took a peaceful walk, _on his own,_ while reminiscing about old times with old friends, he would find his tight grasp on reality again, and this irrational _dread_ would leave him be. And then, perhaps, the newfound happiness would reach his thoughts of Shirabu and color them properly.

 _Why_ couldn’t he stop thinking about Shirabu? It always seemed to summon him — and Eita wasn’t sure if he wanted to meet him now.

As he strolled down the city streets, Eita made sure to avoid the park, or the bars, or all those places where he knew someone could recognize him and get him to explain the conflicted look on his face. Time passed, until the night sky got darker. He didn’t meet anyone.

Maybe fresh air was all he needed, to put his ideas back into place and calm his nerves. He should have done it sooner.

Finally at peace, he sighed again, this time to regain his bearings, to better sort out his thoughts. Eita leaned against a wall, next to the beginning of a dark alleyway. He faced the great street in silence, staring at the neon lights and lit up windows, trying to reason himself. The surface of his surroundings rippled. He had been his usual joyful self around Tsutomu, which only brought out how unbelievably wired and empty he felt now that he was alone again — it couldn’t be normal. How he longed for one particular being in these moments—

 _No_. He _couldn’t_ keep going like this.

From the corner of his eye, Eita saw a silhouette emerge from the darkness of the narrow street. It turned, ready to walk past him, but stopped. Eita didn’t dare meeting their gaze.

… _Of course._

“You’re not with your dog, tonight?” he found himself asking leisurely instead, defeated.

“No,” a voice said, carefully coming closer to Eita, “I just wanted to take a short walk. It’s easier to find sleep afterwards.”

“ _Huh_.” Eita kept his eyes fixated on the street before him. “Did you expect to meet me?”

“I didn’t,” the voice answered. “But it’s a nice surprise, I guess.”

“Happy to see you too.”

“You know I mean it, Semi-san.”

At last, the figure posted itself in Eita’s line of sight, blocking the view— all of a sudden, the only thing Eita could see were _Shirabu’s eyes_. His cold, hauntingly pretty eyes, staring right into his soul just like the first time and all the other times after that, taking all the space once again. It sucked any stray thought out of Eita’s mind, until only one remained. _I want to kiss him._

“Are you okay?” Shirabu asked, raising an eyebrow. A faint hint of concern grazed his traits. “You seem out of it.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Eita said with a smile.

Shirabu regarded him with a doubtful look, but remained silent. Eita’s gaze then trailed down from his eyes to his neck, adorned with that necklace again, then back up, to stop on his lips. Shirabu took a step closer, forcing him to look into his eyes again— and they were so _heavy_. Eita felt the rest of the world slowly crumble around them.

_I want to kiss him._

“Aren’t you going to finish your walk?” Eita heard himself say quietly. He couldn’t tell where he had found the strength to pronounce these words — his brain had been turned to mush seconds ago. Now he could only see those eyes, _everywhere_ , and the sweet little smile slowly creeping on Shirabu’s face.

“I don’t want to anymore,” Shirabu said softly. He moved past Eita to lean next to him against the wall. “Can I join you?”

“You already did. But yeah.”

Shirabu hummed, but didn’t reply. A silence settled, then. Eita’s gaze remained locked on an empty spot in front of him, still and steady. Slowly narrowing, as the silence stretched, as his mind recovered to let his thoughts resurface, casting a somber look on his face. _Right._ He couldn’t keep going like this anymore.

The atmosphere was nothing but ominous — it couldn’t be denied. Maybe now was finally the right time to address it, everything he had been stubbornly pushing away. Before it exploded right into his face. He knew he had to. Wasn’t it why he was feeling restless in the first place?

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Shirabu’s eyes were on him, all of a sudden — Eita felt them on his face, but he still refused to turn.

“What do you mean?” Shirabu asked calmly, unperturbed.

“You know what I mean.”

Shirabu didn’t say anything, and the silence between them lingered until Eita broke it himself.

“I’ll rephrase my question.” A voice inside Eita’s head screamed and begged him to stay silent, but for some reason, words were tumbling out of his mouth on their own volition. “What is your goal?”

This time, Shirabu seemed to consider Eita’s question. Meanwhile, Eita beat himself up for speaking, because it _hurt_ to see him not surprised at all — as if Shirabu had just been _waiting_ for him to ask all along.

“I don’t have a goal,” he confessed at last, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Semi-san.”

_No, no. That’s not—_

Eita finally turned to meet Shirabu’s gaze, faced it head on and gave up his will to conceal his frustration.

“No... I don’t think you got it.”

Suddenly, something flickered in Shirabu’s eyes — a spark of realization, that quickly subdued. As if to shield it, Shirabu promptly turned away to stare at the street before them, silent.

_This is it. This whole thing is going to end anyway._

“It’s tiring me out, to act like I don’t notice,” Eita admitted distantly. “I’m not dumb, nor blind. I’ve been having doubts since that first night, when I couldn’t even tell if I had been dreaming or not.”

Next to him, Shirabu wrapped his arms around his middle, as if to protect himself from the cold that was not there.

“But I tend to be a bit naive, so I tried to look past it,” Eita continued with a nervous smile. “I ended up liking your company a bit too much. It’s my fault.”

“You’re right,” Shirabu’s calm voice suddenly said. “It’s not my fault you always came to meet me halfway.”

_Oh._

Eita hadn’t expected to hear an honest response from Shirabu. He fell silent, replaying the words over and over. Something buzzed beneath his skin, and the fear rose carefully, rose from his stomach to his throat.

… _I came to him? But when did I—_

“I tried to warn you at first,” Shirabu added after a while, tightening his hold on himself. “But I also ended up liking your company. I can’t feel sorry about that.”

_When did he warn me?_

_What was this warning for?_

“Time flies fast. Every day looks the same, when it brings you closer to a limit you’re longing to reach, don’t you think?”

A silence passed. And slowly, Shirabu relaxed ; he unfolded his arms and let his shoulders fall.

Next to him, Eita heard his own heart crack. And the fear retreated at once, leaving him only with that numb feeling and that buzzing sensation under his skin.

“You’re not even meant to stay,” he declared absently, locking his gaze back on the street as well. “Right?”

Shirabu didn’t reply. A few seconds passed in silence again, while Eita waited, patiently. Until Shirabu gave in at last and did something — slipped his fingers around Eita’s arm and turned to face him, with bigger eyes than before. Eita met his gaze ; stared down at him, not afraid, nor uneasy, but grave and empty. Then, softly, Shirabu smiled.

He _smiled,_ and then spoke.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter right now, does it?”

*******

**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 30** **th **

“Fuck...”

Gritting his teeth, Shirabu propped his hands on Eita's chest for leverage, raised his hips and dropped down again, in dragged out movements. Each time, his face inched closer. It was probably not calculated — it couldn't be, in the state he was in, half drunk on red wine — but Eita still grasped his jaw as if Shirabu had been tempting him for hours. The latter's lips fell open to let out another breathy curse, like a dumb broken doll. His eyes, though — his eyes that met Eita's gaze all of a sudden, seemed more alive than they had ever been before. They burned with something wild, something dangerous, and incredibly hot and tender. Both Eita's brain and heart melted, leaving _him_ dumb and broken.

His grip on Shirabu loosened.

“Fucking go faster,” Eita hissed, hands falling around the other's hips.

Shirabu shook his head no with a lopsided smile, even if his eyes were glazed over.

“Make me.”

Now it was Shirabu who had Eita's face in his grasp, trapped between delicate but menacing fingers. Eita had almost choked on a breath, and was now unable to find something to retort — everything felt so good, his mind was loosing itself in thick dark clouds, where not a single thought could seep through. And around them, the room vibrated like the surface of a speaker cone.

“I don't— want to,” Eita managed to murmur at some point, when their lips were so close they almost touched.

It was insanely hot, to have Shirabu above him, to watch him seek his release — to see the blank expression on his face change. It was _beautiful_. Their lips touched at last, slotted together like they were meant for each other, and for the first time, Eita felt like that could be enough to make him cry.

“Don't leave,” he whispered between two sighs, raising a hand to wrap his fingers around Shirabu's wrist.

It was no use saying that, but the words had slipped from Eita's mouth on impulse, and now Shirabu was looking at him with an odd look on his face, all flushed and teary-eyed. He ended up shaking his head no once more, jiggling the pendant of his necklace. _That necklace again..._

“I won't,” he said, “I'll always be somewhere.”

Eita wasn't sure if he knew what that meant, but at the moment the answer was enough to reassure him. So he let himself forget it, forget everything about the rest and only felt Kenjirou’s warmth, Kenjirou’s skin against his, his lean muscles under his hands. Maybe Kenjirou had never stepped into his space, in the end ; maybe it was Eita all along, who had breached the barrier between them. Who had eyes that could do more than just _see_.

They both took the time catch their breath carefully, afterwards. Without looking at each other. Eita kept a hand on one of Shirabu’s thigh, absently caressing his skin, while his other hand was trapped in Shirabu’s own. A moment passed, maybe a few seconds or a few minutes, and Shirabu leaned in to reach for the tissues on the bedside table. Eita allowed himself to close his eyes.

He wondered what time it was. And what would happen, then. Maybe the wine had something to do with it, but the room had been spinning and rippling for a while now. He still didn’t really know what it meant.

At some point, a small drop of something warm falling onto his chest forced him to open his eyes again. Shirabu, who seemed to have been in the midst of climbing off of him, had frozen there, propped on his hands and knees above Eita. They locked eyes. In his dazed state, Eita could only notice the mesmerizing beauty of his traits first, and the blood dripping from his nose next. Shirabu himself didn't seem to realize it until a second and a third drop joined the first and began to trickle down Eita's skin — only then he quickly brought a hand under his chin, mouth parting to let out a breathy curse.

“Shit,” Eita echoed, brutally coming back to his senses. He looked to the side, to the bedside table. No more tissues. “Hop off.” He tapped Shirabu's leg lightly, and Shirabu reacted, moving off of Eita while making sure his hand was still under his chin.

Eita tried to ignore the sensation of the blood coursing down his chest when he stood up and hurried to the bathroom. He came back seconds later, clean and holding boxes of tissues and cotton. In the meantime, Shirabu had sat at the edge of the bed, had brought his other hand under his chin and had tilted his head up. Eita couldn't help but wince when he got close enough to see his bloody hands.

“Here.” He sat at his feet and gave him two cotton pads. “Use these first, yeah?”

Shirabu just nodded, keeping his mouth firmly sealed. Somehow, he seemed calm, way too calm for someone who had started bleeding all of a sudden. Eita tried not to read too much into it. Ignoring the strange chill clinging to his skin, he handed out tissues for Shirabu to clean his hands and face with. He didn’t pay attention either when something warm and wet started to trickle on his upper lip ; he absently wiped it with the back of his hand and looked up.

Everything pulsed around him again, like a beating heart.

“Semi-san.”

“ _What?_ ”

Shirabu didn’t have to answer. The warm liquid fell on Eita’s upper lip again, and this time Eita reached with a shaky hand to touch it.

“Oh...” For a moment, he stared dumbly at the fresh blood on his fingers, until a drop landed on his palm. He looked up to meet Shirabu’s gaze again, smiling sheepishly. “Good thing I brought the whole box, huh?”

As he shoved cotton up his nose, Eita almost missed Shirabu’s breathy chuckle and the grin on his face. Then the world shook again, but there was no rumble with it, no sound of furniture rattling against the floor. Everything was silent. Eita wiped his hands with a tissue.

“Are you hungry?”

“A bit.” Shirabu swallowed, then kept his lips parted to breathe. “ _Ugh_.”

“Yeah,” Eita said with a sigh. The adrenaline was coming down once again, leaving him tired and numb. He checked the hour. It was already past eleven.

“Can I take a quick shower? I'm a mess,” Shirabu said, breaking the silence. He showed his hands for emphasis — stained with dry blood. Eita stood up.

“Go ahead. I'll warm up the stuff you brought.”

“Okay.”

They stared into each other's eyes for a second, for no reason, before Eita threw on some clothes and left the room. The apartment wasn’t big, so the kitchen wasn’t far, but each of his step felt painful — too light and too heavy at the same time. He turned on the light above the stove, heaving a long sigh. Maybe it was the nosebleed, but he was starting to feel the ghost of a headache creeping on his skull.

In the distance, someone opened and closed doors. The shower started not too long after.

And the kitchen pulsated. Eita washed his hands in silence, then waited a bit before putting the food on the stove ; spent minutes staring at an empty spot, while holding his nose until it stopped bleeding. He couldn’t follow his thoughts. They had been a blurry mass for a while anyway, a bunch of words and ideas stuck together to make an incoherent bunch that Eita had since stopped listening.

After throwing away the cottons, he finally moved to search for his camera, like a machine following a command. He came back to snap a shot of the kitchen lit up by the yellow light above the stove. Only then, he put the food to simmer.

Meanwhile, he took a black marker and looked at the date ; wrote June 30th on the polaroid, because it still wasn't midnight yet. It _still wasn’t_ midnight. As the picture slowly appeared, Eita poured himself a glass of wine, trying not to spill any — his hands were shaking. The room rippled. He was breaking into cold sweats. He wasn’t sure why.

Further inside the apartment, the door of the bathroom clicked open, and footsteps approached. Eita turned to see Shirabu walk into the kitchen peacefully, eyes drooping a bit. He wasn't bleeding anymore.

“Everything's fine?” Eita asked, voice trembling a bit.

“Yeah.” Shirabu leaned against the kitchen counter, next to the camera and the polaroid resting there.

A moment passed. Everything rippled, except them. Shirabu looked at the photo.

“What is this?”

“It's— It’s just for a photo book.”

“Did you give it a title?”

“No, no. It's not that serious. Only the date matters.”

“Hm. It's a nice picture.” Even though he wasn't looking at him, Eita could almost see his steady gaze taking up all the place. “It's a nice picture to end June with.”

The world that had been vibrating for a while now suddenly stuttered. Then it fell still, unmoving like the sturdy surface of a window. Feeling Shirabu's eyes burning his side, Eita turned but his gaze landed on nothing. He searched the room, lost but careful. No one was there.

Confused, Eita reached for his phone and looked at the hour, then put it back down slowly. A shiver ran down his spine, and maybe he trembled for a moment, breathed heavily, gritted his teeth to muffle the pain surging in his chest _and_ between his eyes. A shrill sound, like audio feedback, assaulted his ears. His vision got blurred a few times. Red and green spots flashed before him, cancelling themselves. The dead sparrow came to his mind all of a sudden, followed by images of that huge black dog, that dog that seemed so wise yet so ominous. Horns curled around a man’s head, and at last, he remembered that necklace, with the figure and the name of the one who hates the light, carved in silver. Those images all faded with the shadows, bringing another wave of chills to Eita’s spine before vanishing forever, somewhere else, out of reach. But in the end, even if it took him a while, Eita sighed and smiled. He let it all disappear and _smiled,_ then closed his eyes.

“Right,” he whispered to himself, just as an odd smell reached his nose. He looked down. The food was burning.

Before the smell invaded the apartment, he threw it away, turned off the stove and the yellow light. Then he went to open the glass door of the balcony and let the cool nighttime summer air wash away the smoke. The moon was high in the cloudless sky, and it was past midnight — the streets were still, but sometimes a car passed. He didn’t realize he was holding the picture of the stove until he found himself staring at it, standing next to his couch. His feet ended up dragging him to the shelf where he kept his photo book.

The photo was put there like all the previous ones, and Eita turned the page. His eyes trailed over the blank spaces.

What had he planned for July?

 _Oh, right._ Going to the beach with Kuroo.


End file.
